"How DID Y'All Meet?" Part XXI

You know the drill, the whole story is over here.
As one might imagine there was little sleep in the hours that followed.

Did my husband really just put his hands on me?

Did I not hit him back?

Did he really call Heids?

Those were the thoughts rolling around my brain like rocks in a tumbler. If only they came out polished...

I rose an hour before the sun came up and began to pace. I berated myself for allowing someone to violate my personal space. I was livid that I'd permitted anyone to lay their hands on me in such a manner. I was scared to death of what to do next. Where would I go? I was embarrassed to tell anyone what happened.

The humming sound of my cell phone vibrating across the breakfast bar jarred me to reality. It was BS and he said he had to speak to me and didn't think it was a good idea to do over the phone.

Once I suggested that his calling me in the middle of the night wasn't really a fantastic idea either, he laughed. I did too. I agreed to meet him for coffee later that morning in a very public place.

I stared into space and watched the steam rise from my cup.

"You've got 5 minutes."

"Well good morning to you too," he drawled.

"I'm serious, I've got a ton to do. We're moving." I could feel the lump in my throat.

"What? Where?" he asked. He looked as upset as I felt.

"Please? I have the realtor coming in an hour," ...just let me get through this so I can go home and sleep, I thought.

"My wife things we're having an affair," he shared.

"Perfect. We're not, so you're off the hook. Is that why you called me in the middle of the night?"

"Minnie, your husband called her. She said they have pictures."

"Right, we sat in your truck drinking coffee all night. She can have 100 8"x10" glossy photos of it. I don't care."

"No. We're...." he looked around at each passer by, "We're naked."

"Well I can assure you I've never been naked with, by, or for you, so call her bluff."

"They have pictures of US. Naked."

I knew I was going to jump out of my skin. I'd spent the past week watching my life be shredded like an Arth*rAnders*n accountant's files. The bile was rising faster then I was moving.

Please don't throw up, I tried to will myself.

I just started to run. Fast. (And as an aside do you know what a 40+ year old man in starched jeans and cowboy boots looks like running across the grocery store parking lot dodging carts, cars, and a stroller?)

Funny.

When I made it to my car I laid my cheek on the driver's side window. It was cooling my face while I dug blindly through my purse for the keys. I could hear him coming. Then I could smell him. It was coffee, deodorant, and leather. He gently, albeit firmly turned me to face him. I was a vision of tears and snot.

"WE have to figure this out," he urged.

"No, BS, WE don't have to do anything," my voice quivered regardless of how strong I was trying to me.

In my defense I was watching my entire existence evaporate in the Kr*ger parking lot, with no make up on, a bruised elbow, a battered ego. I was two thousand miles from home with no job. I had circles under my eyes and ugly shoes on. And that, my friends just sent me right-the-fuck over the edge.

"Go home. Do what you have to do. I'll be over this afternoon."

"Okay, your wife thinks you're screwing me. My husband has his IT guy photo shopping pictures and your solution is to join me in my dark empty house with more beds than the local hotel?"

"Atta girl! I know you could be pissed that long," he smiled. He handed me my keys, which I'd apparently left on the counter inside, leaned down and gave me a peck on the forehead. "I'll shout at you when I'm heading your way."

I Thought it Was My Hair

There comes a time in everyone's life where she must acknowledge that she can only beat that nasty bitch, Mother Nature age off with a stick for so long.

Therefore, last week I got my hair cut. For the first time in years I didn't wait until I had enough to donate my locks. Nor did I maintain my usual, "...clean it up but make sure I can still tie it back when I run..." Oh no, I decided to take on the aging process, hair first.

Watching copious piles of my strands pile up on the cold hard floor began to make me nervous. When Ms. Della said, "Honey. Ummmm Honey, you sho' do have a lotta hair," I'd had it.

"You can do whatever you want as long as I can pin it up to go running and I can be out the door in under 20," I told her.

She did. For the first time in YEARS I'm pleased with my hair cut. It's not as short as it's been in the past (like think Demi Moore in Ghosts)but I AM out the door in under 20. I walked out of the salon pleased and headed to visit P at work.

When I arrived I was greeted by some of their employees, as well as her Brother in Law. Oddly these men were crazy talk-a-tive. While that sentence may seem benign to the average reader, allow me to explain...

There are men that drive big trucks for a living. Their work ethics trump any deficiency in social graces. Be sure, though, to note that social graces are at a premium in this group.

After I visited with the gentlemen drivers I made my way into the office. P's husband and one of his henchmen walked into the main office area and there were hugs all around. It was delightful really, and a hell of an ego boost.

That's when I looked over to see my dear friend's face; eyes like saucers and a poop-eating grin...

"Hello Darlin'," she cooed, "What's up with the boobage?"

"Huh?"

With her perfectly manicured nail she pointed to the center of my chest. My chest that was exposing my bloated, pushed-up tae-tas.

You see, after taking off the hairdresser's cape and putting my blouse back on, I missed a few buttons. As a result I flashed the girls to half the truck drivers in our little part of the world.

Heh. All that time I thought it was my new 'do.

Coolest. Dad. Ever

Or "Why BS Isn't Allowed to Grocery Shop"

On the Job

Minnie: Why do I have to go to this meeting? You're the one that screwed it all up.


Boss1: Because you're going to fix it, besides Daddy (Boss2) said you have to.


Minnie: I appreciate you think I can handle this, but I have nothing to contribute.


Boss1: Just handle it.


Minnie: You're a scared little bitch.


Boss1: See you this afternoon.



The next morning at a meeting Boss1 texts me from across the table:



Boss1: What did you decide on XYZ? I have to speak next.


Minnie: Handle it.


Boss1: Not playing.


Minnie: Please don't make me call you a bitch in front of the board.

In Conclusion...

Or the post I should have called, "How Many Times Must I be Forced to Hear the Word Y'all in One Day?"

As is evident from the photos on the way to the wedding, the newly-wedded couple live an a rural area. Don't be alarmed, Friends we didn't get lost.

I mean, how could you with the blow-up doll on the road going into the neighborhood. Never one to be outdone and consistently keeping with the theme, the blow up doll was wearing a grass skirt. In addition there was a realtor's sign that had been recycled (which was no doubt a nod to their green lifestyle) advertising "Party Her." (Yes the last letter of the word "here" was missing, it's not a typo.)

After waiting for a dozen or so stray dogs and a small pony to vacate the dirt road we rounded the corner to a scene that I can only describe as the South's answer to WoodSt*ck. There were campers, and tents, and babies running in dirty diapers. There were large men wearing Hawaiian shirts that they couldn't be bothered to button. Women in various states of sobriety yelling at their kids for putting too much "head" on the beer that they'd just been asked to serve up to their parents.

I locked to door, looked and BS, "I'm going to vomit."

Before he could respond BM was opening my door for me hugging me and pulling me out at the same time. My seat belt was still fastened.

"Girl, I'm so glad y'all came."

Please note, she's wearing a grass skirt with a 4 1/2" gap on the waist, underneath said skirt are a lovely pair of underwear with the words "get leid" across the cheeks. From her navel up the only coverage was a bikini top. Lest you think I'm kidding, I sware on every decent pair of shoes I own. At that point Daisy came up to say hello and never left my side the remainder of the visit.

"Come on, I want to introduce you to everyone," she cooed as she held my clammy hand. Please note, BS is still sitting in the driver's seat with his seat belt on.

I thought about wishing for death but realized that the last sight I saw as I convulsed would be chipped hot pink toe nails and truck tires and I believe that the Good Lord himself looked down and said, "Oh hell no. You're not going out like this, Baby."

As I was being drug from one plastic-covered folding table to another I did consider that any jury would let me off If I stared BS to his untimely demise if he didn't get his ass moving.

That's when I felt it. Out of nowhere there were a man's arms around me. Sweaty, gritty, hairy arms; from behind. I could tell that the man was shorter than me because I could feel him BREATHING on my neck. Is this really happening?

Just like that my hero saved the day. Only the white horse was a domestic pick up truck and he carried a bottle of water instead of roses.

"I see you've met my wife?"

"Ohhhshit yeah," said the drunk as he released me. "She pr'olly don't even member me. Do you Minnie?"

"I do. It's been a while how are you?" I asked what I know had confirmed as BM's brother.

We spent the next 10-15 minutes talking to BM's brother and his fifth wife* as well as the kids.

I reminded BS that we needed to get going, as the dogs had been home and locked up all day.

I walked over to BM to say goodbye.

"Thank you very much for inviting us. I truly apologize for how late were were." (We'd been stuck at BS's parent's house on an other issue.)

"I'm glad y'all came," she offered sincerely. "When y'all pulled up my girls was like, 'oh. hell. no. That girl is not...'"

"Truthfully when you sent the invitation I thought we were invited. Maybe your friends felt that way because of the things that you've said?"

"Oh y'all were invited. Girl I told you a'ready I want us to be friends, I think it's good for the kids."

"I think that the kids feeling loved and comfortable should be every one's primary concern."

"I know that shits right."

"Indeed... Alright," I said, shifting my attention to my hip ornament, Daisy. "Daddy and I need to head out. The dogs have been locked up since 7:30 this morning because we had to go to MawMaw and PawPaw's"

With that I gave BS the look. I'm not talking about the "hey, wrap up that conversation so we can think about leaving." I'm talking about the full-force "I will never ever speak to you, much less touch you if you don't race me to the car."

Just as we began walking BM yelled, "Hey! Check this out..."

Yes, that is a picture of part of BM's underclothes.

My apology for the quality of the photo, but it was via blackberry and I don't ordinarily get the pleasure of looking at the ass of my step-wife. who though thin, has thighs that make her look like she's been sitting in a gravel pit for three days

Unlimited Data Pays for Itself

Or communications one might have on the way to a BM's Wedding


VIA TEXT:
Minnie: Thanks for the invite, we're heading to BM's wedding. They kids are begging us to come.

P: Oh Lord, I know that's a bullet to bite.

Minnie: I just need some Pinot, a Pill, and a P visit.

P: I know that's right.

VIA PHONE:

Minnie: I'm sorry to bother you, but can you go let my dogs out?

Winnie: Yeah, is everything okay?

Minnie: Yes, we just left the in-laws and the kids really want us to come to BM's wedding.

Winnie: BWAHHHHHHHHHHHH

Minnie: The alarm is set so you'll need to.... Hello?
(This is where she hung up on me and I had to call her back)

Minnie: Why did you hang up on me?

Winnie: I can't stop laughing. Heading to your house now.




VIA E-Mail:
Jax: My phone does not get text pix. If you're so inclined please e-mail.

Minnie: Shut it.

Jax: Are you bringing a nugget basket from Chic-fil-a?

Minnie: No a slim jim assortment to round out the carving station.
(This is where my cell signal was lost.)

Jax: Rapid text would not suck. Do they allow fireworks at keg parties in the land of Sanford and Son?

Minnie: Sorry I have to walk to the dirt road to get cell signal. Bitch.

The Long Brown Mile(s)

Things one may see on the way to a BM's wedding.

A Bed of Their Own

I woke with that sinking feeling in my stomach. Before my eyes were opened, my heart felt funny. The only sounds were the wisps from the oscillating fan and the occasional "tink" of the dogs collars when they'd roll over.


"Get up Minnie, you know what you have to do today."


I shimmied out of the bed in an effort to not wake my partner and padded into the bathroom.


"Just shower, and get this over with."


I took the extra time in the shower to let the steam open my sinuses and fog my brain. As was suggested, I hadn't had anything to eat or dink past midnight the night before.


With game face on and my hair dry I walked into the kitchen to leave a note to BS and Daffy.


Good Morning Guys,

I have an early meeting in town and will work from home this afternoon.

Daffy, please don't leave for your Mom's until I get home so that you can take our gift out. Don't know if we're going to make the wedding. PawPaw called a family meeting. We'll try our best, but take our gift when you go.

Love me,

Minnie.



I grabbed my keys and my bag and headed out the door. It was early.


Pulling into the parking lot I was shocked that there was already so much activity.


"Good Morning Ma'am!" the geriatric greeter crooned, "Welcome to W*lM*rt."


The stimuli were unreal as the doors rolled back to let me in. fluorescent bulbs humming. The beeping sound of forklifts as shelves were stocked in the early morning hours.


"Can I help you?" she asked.


Laura was her name. I know that because it was on her blue vest with a large yellow smiley face. She's got 10 years of service, surely she could be of assistance, I thought.


"Yes. Can you please tell me where I can find a gift registry?"

"Dang It. We're doin' construction here so the machine in jewelry is broken. If you go to electronics Jerry-Jo can print one for you."

I wheeled on passing the strawberries, light bulbs, cribs, and furniture.

"Can I help you Ma'am?"

"Yes, please, I need a copy of a wedding registry."

"Congratulations."

"Oh, no, I need to purchase a gift from a registry, not create one."

"So you want to buy something?"

"Indeed."

As Jerry-Jo (actually spelled Gerreigh-Joe, per her name badge) locked up the 35MM film she was stocking she engaged in conversation about the weather, and what an early bird I was.

"Good Lawsie Mercy. This is 14 pages."

"Can you sort by department or what you have in stock?"

"I can do it by price."

GJ (as I've affectionately nick named her) was working the mouse like a NASC*R mechanic changing a tire*.

"Ma'am, I can only get the real expensive stuff."

"That's fine, if it's sorted most expensive to least just print me the first page."

After 30 minutes. A half hour, I called Heidi and asked her if she would pull it up on line.

After she laughed at me for 45 minutes, she agreed.

"What are you doing at W*lM*rt in the middle of the night?"

"It's not the middle of the night, you know I go to bed early, just help me, please."

That's when almost simultaneously GJ and Heidi found the information.

I quickly scanned the registry, found the gift wrap between the dog food and the garden hoses, and made my way to the cashier, but not before taking a picture.

May I present to you my gift to BM in celebration of her numptuals.















*For B

Ray the Shark

There are millions of jokes about lawyers. You know you've heard them. When I was studying for my LSATS I even made fun of some of the jokes myself. (No, I am not a lawyer.) As my career and my life changed directions, so too did my assumptions and stereotypes of attorneys. Most of those attitude changes were favorable.

I met those who practice to defend those who can't defend themselves, some who work for non profits, and a lot who take pro bono cases and causes.

And then yesterday I met the attorney that all bad jokes derive from. I'd be hard pressed to consider a time when I was more offended, shocked, insulted, or had my intelligence, ethics, and gender questioned.

A friend of mine is in the painful process of a divorce. The thing is, it's not one of those nasty, ugly deals where people fight like cats and dogs. She and her partner are lovely people and great parents.

Therefore the average ETHICAL attorney would take the case, draft up the proper documents, charge a fair but reasonable fee and part ways upon receiving final payment.

But not so, Dear Readers Yesterday afternoon I watch my friend get anally-raped screwed out of $300.00 for a consultation. The consultation consisted of the obese, coffee-stained-teeth-showing, polyester shirt wearing pig singing his accolades to us in an effort to be sure we knew he was "worth it." In addition he decided to advise my friend to pretty much not allow her hubby to see the kids unless gross sums of cash were involved.

It took every ounce of restraint to not Minnie his ass. In an effort to respect my friend I kept it in check for almost 10 minutes. At minute 17 we asked the Esquire to excuse himself from his office and decided to bail.

As we approached the reception area he turned to me and said, "I'll tell you what Lady. She's got a lot to learn."

No Sir, YOU have a lot to learn.

My apologies that you chose a profession that ordinarily has you dealing with the scum of the Earth. I apologize to all the children who were shafted out relationships and time with their Fathers because you intimidated their Mothers into letting you represent them. I apologize to every ethical attorney whom reek of shit because of garbage you spew from your noxious mouth.

Finally I apologize that you won't have the opportunity to jack open my Friend's wallet to add yet another atrocious piece of knock-off South Western art work into your already hideous office.

YOU, Fucker, have a lot to learn.

(Image www.bradfitzpatrick.com/stock.../cartoon_shark_01.htm )